Page 86 of The Sound of Him

He tilts his head at me, like he’s considering something, then nods. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he says again, smirking now. Then he reaches past me and grabs a box of cereal. I watch as he puts it in the tote bag. “He used to eat dryFruit Loopswith his papá on the weekends, when his mamá worked early shifts. It was their secret.”

Something catches and pulls in my chest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

It’s not my place.

It’s not my place to ask, but I still do. “Did he tell stories a lot? Before…?”

“He was always quieter, but yeah, he’d tell stories. Most of us would. It kept us sane and kept us going, you know? One time he-”

“Wait,” I stop him, putting a hand up as that thing inside my chest tugs down into my gut andtwists. “I - please don’t tell me anything else. I shouldn’t have asked. I want him to tell me, if he ever wants to. I’m sorry.”

He tilts his head, the movement considering again, and smiles. It’s an approving smile. I feel like a kid who just got handed a gold fucking star with that smile.

As he walks away, though, I can’t help but think one thing; Matt’s smile is better.

Chapter Fifteen

Matt

Happy isn’t the word I’d use to describe the bubbling feeling inside of me. It’s too small. Just a little thing, tiny pop pop pops of light, just warm enough to keep the chill of reality at bay.

I don’t remember if there was a word for this feeling before words got hard for me. A word for almost-happy. I wouldn’t be able to say the word even if it does exist, and I definitely wouldn’t know the sign for it, so it doesn’t matter anyway.

What matters is that I’m feeling something and it’snice. It’s really nice. It’s music and a soft smile and an echoed,Me too.I don’t need more than that.

It lingers all day, even while Nolan stresses about Maison, and group therapy ends with Dr. Singh asking me to come see him later, and dinner is slimy, lumpy, saucy spaghetti that makes my stomach roil just at the thought of trying to slurp it into my mouth.

It even lingers as I settle on the couch of Dr. Singh’s office, which makes me reconsider just how small it could really be, because that’s like magic.

Dr. Singh offers me a drink before we start. He uses the numbered fingers system - 1 for water, 2 for hot cocoa, 3 for tea, 4 for coffee, 5 for nothing. I want hot cocoa, but my mamá always made hers from scratch.Do the dry packets have any type of nut in them?I could ask, but then he might want to talk about my allergy, and maybe that’ll lead into the night of the birthday party, and then that’ll lead to-

So no hot cocoa.

I decide on water, not sure if I have the energy to go through the different types of tea he probably has, and knowing my stomach won’t do well with coffee since I’ve barely eaten today. It doesn’t seem like there was a right or wrong answer, Dr. Singh simply pouring the water and bringing it to me with a smile. He goes to his desk after, grabbing a mug of something that’s still steaming and a… mailbox?

“Okay, I see you already judging me,” he says as he sits down with what is definitely a miniature mailbox in his lap. “Just hear me out, okay?”

I nod, feeling myself already approaching the urge to smile.Okay, yeah, whatever that almost-happy feeling is called, it’s definitely magic.

“Here, you can look while I explain.” He sets his mug down before leaning over to offer it to me. I place my water down too, then take it and sit back. It’s lighter than I expected it to be, the black-looking-metal really just plastic, same as the little red and white flags, one on each side. “I’m going to have this installed right outside my door, unless you prefer I place it somewhere else. It’s for you, so that’s something you can decide whenever you’re ready.”

“We talked about too many words being overwhelming last time we met, do you remember?” I nod. “This is going to help with that. With this mailbox, we’ll be able to talk outside of sessions, too. It takes any pressure of time off of you. If aquestion comes up during a session but you lose track and don’t manage to ask it while we’re together, or a question just comes up at any point in your day, you can write it down and put it inside here. You can also put notes in there. Information that you want me to know before our next session or whatever else comes up.”

He pauses, grabbing his mug and taking a sip before resting it on the knee of his leg that’s crossed over the other.

“So, the mailbox is for questions or information, basically.” Which is what I thought he’d said, but it’s good to hear it confirmed. “It’ll only be used for the two of us to communicate. No one else will put things in and no one else will read what you put in.”

I nod, understanding so far.

“I’ll also put things in here that I might want you to see before we meet next, but there is no pressure for you to see it in time. Okay? If you show up for a session and see something is waiting for you, you can grab it then. No big deal. Understood?”

I fiddle with the white flag on the mailbox.